


kicking off covers while you sleep

by orphan_account



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Drinking, Gen, Implied/Referenced Sex, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-30
Updated: 2017-08-30
Packaged: 2018-12-21 21:40:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11953185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Viktor and Christophe tend to sleep in the same bed after Worlds.





	kicking off covers while you sleep

**Author's Note:**

> reposted. for yoi ship bingo, i decided to go for a platonic-but-almost-not approach because that's how i see chrisvik.
> 
> enjoy!

When Viktor wakes up after Worlds, he notices Chris is in the same bed as him. He doesn't get surprised, his friend sleeping with him not the wildest thing that's happened to him in the last twenty-four hours. He rubs his thighs with each other and notices the ache of bruises; his sleepy brain doesn't know if Chris or some other guy made them. He sighs, his head pounding. He doens't want to go back to sleep. He sees the glint of gold in the bedside table-- he remembers how it felt to be in the middle of the podium and he can't help but smile.

"Vitya," Chris says softly. He's only twenty-one, but they've known each other for what feels like years. Viktor looks at him and Chris yawns as he stirs up, his head no longer in the pillows. His hair is a mess and he's wearing one of Viktor's unused, bigger shirts. "How does the gold feel. hm?" there's a teasing tone in his voice, but Viktor feels like he's bitter rather than happy for him. They've always been head to head the last few years, competing for a medal and then falling asleep in a tangle of limbs the night after. He aches inside out, and he wants to ask him _do you hate me, do you want to beat me now that I've gotten gold._

"It feels..." Viktor pauses. Chris' sea green eyes gleam in the darkness. He looks vulnerable, almost deer in the headlights-like. "It feels great." He lets himself smile, but it's the one he wears for the cameras. No honesty, no dimples, no eye creaking. It feels mechanic, because it is. "How's bronze for you?"

Chris huffs. He shakes his head and looks at Viktor. "Would prefer silver."

Viktor sighs, to then try and smile again. "We'll see about that next season then. Christophe."

"A challenge?"

The Russian man tilts his head. The ache in his bones has settled and it's more pleasant; it feels equally of sadness and of whatever happened the night before. He touches his own neck and feels the bump of a hickey; well, that's another one. "Always up for a challenge."

Chris' eyes are full of determination. Viktor tries to tell himself he won't let Chris win Europeans; Yakov would kill him if he did that. But he doesn't want his friend-- his only friend-- to grow hateful of him just because he's winning and snatching gold medals while he's sitting still in his shadow. The thought makes his skin itch. "We'll get shitfaced next time?"

Viktor chuckles. "Like we always do."

* * *

The noise of the club is asphyxiating and Viktor can't go home. Chris' hand is on his hip amd he's almost aggressive with the way he moves along with the music blasting through the speakers. He doesn't grind into him, but he grows closer and pulls at his collar and hisses under his breath. He looks upset, and VIktor can understand why. He got silver this year at Worlds, him securing the gold medal once again. His heart is sitting on his throat, almost telling him to escape to the bathroom and make sense of whatever is happening.

"Didn't you say you'd prefer silver?" he teases, although he knows his eyes aren't twinkling or his mouth turned up into a grin like when he's honest with his babbling. Chris pulls him by the collar of his shirt once again, a groan escaping his lips. He sounds frustrated, and Viktor thinks he gets why.

Chris keeps moving and hissing and cursing, his hips swiveling obscenely and his eyes lidded. He gets his hands off Viktor in some moment and he watches, perplexed, as he takes one of the other skaters there and starts dancing and grinding into him. He rolls his hips against the other skater's ass, eyes clouded with something that doesn't resemblence lust. Viktor knows he'll have sex with whoeer that skater is. He grits his teeth, turns around and goes to get a dirnk.

It takes twenty minutes for Chris to come back, a bite mark on his throat and his body buzzing. After what feels like hours, Chris is shitfaced once again. It's a tradition by this point, to get as drunk as possible after competitions, but Viktor can't help but feel like Chris is, as the English people say, 'drowning his sorrows' with the beer he's downing, glass after glass.

"I want to beat you," Chris tells him when his eyes are glazed over and he's jiggling his leg against the bar. "Once. Just-- let me do it once, Vitya. Please." He sounds desperate, like he needs the gold medal to be happy, to feel whole. Viktor's heart aches and he puts his hand on Chris' shoulder, unsure on what to say. "Let me win, Vitya."

Viktor grits his teeth. His insides feel like they're on fire, and Chris takes another shot of cheap beer.

"I'm sorry," he manages to mutter.

Chris looks at him, the glass still against his lips and disbelief spreading across his factions. He raises his eyebrows and puts the glass down. He takes a while to muster whatever he's going to say, and Viktor's pulse quickens as every second passes. "You're not." is all he says.

Viktor breathes and closes his eyes. He wants to be sorry, but he's winning, and he's already getting a small stack of gold medals. He wants to win, and Yakov will kill him if he ever gives the medal to Chris without him really beating him. He has to give his best, and Chris does too; he still thinks that maybe, just maybe. Chris won't ever beat him even if he tries. The thought makes his guts twist.

When they wake up the next morning, they're a mess of limbs in Viktor's hotel bed. Chris smells like beer and sex and sweat. Viktor is about to say something, but Chris simply puts his clothes back on and leaves without saying a word. He feels shame burn hot through him, but he doesn't speak up.


End file.
